The Affair: Lonely and Scared
by LyssaBee
Summary: PRE EPILOGUE. In the midst of loneliness, Draco Malfoy comes across a find that he feels he can only use to benefit. Meanwhile Hermione Granger is becoming scared of Ron’s frequent advances and tries anything and anyone to get away. Please Review!
1. An accidental find

**Thanks to Lady Laurelin for beta-ing!**

She was being kept in the cellar. Truthfully, that was a place Draco Malfoy didn't like at all. He spent much of his time in his bedroom where he was provided with daylight, rather than darkness and walls of thick impenetrable stone. This, however, was one of the few instances when he had visited the chambers below his manor. Notably, one of them was when he was to fetch a goblin named Griphook. This time however, instead of forcing someone from the cellar, he was to keep them securely locked inside.  
Malfoy magically lit the lamp brackets as he descended down the long grey stone hall. His footsteps echoed eerily, causing him to shiver and stop in place to peer behind. The cellars reminded him much of the dungeons at Hogwarts: however, at school he was often accompanied by students. On the contrary, the Malfoy cellars were creepy, quiet and lonesome. 'What should I be afraid of?' he thought, as he looked behind himself once more. 'The house elf?' He laughed aloud, causing his voice to journey to the end of the hall and meet him back in the middle.

Finally reaching the cellar door, he unlocked it with a tap of his wand. He stood in the archway, staring at the human mound in the centre of the stone floor. She was propped on her side, arms uncaringly assorted, motionless above her head, and her pale face was aggregating with the concrete ground. Admiring from a far, Malfoy couldn't help but smirk; he felt that this was positively the most unusual thing to happen to him. He had a prisoner in his cellar, not only a prisoner, a Mudblood…Hermione Granger.

He barked a laugh aloud as he contemplated on how he had come across the Mudblood two days earlier.

It was three weeks after the final war had ended. The Weasley's were still in mourning long after Fred's death had tragically come about; it seemed so difficult for all to come to terms with not having his bright, boisterous personality and candid jokes. George was the worst off. After a week of staying at The Burrow mourning with the rest of his family and few friends, he had migrated to the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes store in Diagon Alley. No one had seen or heard from him since.

Hermione had just returned to the Burrow after a week in Australia locating her parents and trying to remodify their memories. She returned to find exactly what she had left behind – a house in shambles, consisting of eight people in bouts of tears, bad moods or silence. Of course Harry was also at the Burrow; however, though he was coping with a loss like all other Weasleys, it seemed his mourning had ended.

"I feel like I shouldn't be here," he said to Hermione, as he walked her through the front door.

Flopping down on the Weasley sofa, Hermione sighed briefly. "Maybe we should get out of their way?"

"And go where?"

"Grimmauld Place?" she suggested.

Harry pondered on the idea for a moment. "I'd rather not be there at the moment…" Truthfully, Harry didn't want to be anywhere that reminded him of death. That included Grimmauld Place, as well as The Burrow.

Before Hermione could suggest anything further, Ron had traipsed in the room and stopped very suddenly, staring at Hermione. "I didn't know you'd arrived," he said wish a sheepish smile. Sitting beside his girlfriend, he gave her a shy kiss on the cheek. It had been blatantly obvious for the past few weeks that Ron's personality was completely altered. Neither Harry nor Hermione knew what to expect when speaking with him. Hermione had particularly noticed that he showed no effort in trying to coerce her affection any longer; but of course, as she had told herself before, this was all due to Fred's death - not anything on her behalf. 

It was evening at The Burrow, and Ron and Hermione were in the backyard lying up at the orange, red-tinged sky. It would have been a beautiful night if the atmosphere weren't still solemn and miserable. Hermione fiddled with the grass beneath her as a gnome dawdled past her feet.

"Ron," she began. He continued to stare up at the sky, not acknowledging Hermione at all. "I think perhaps…we should move out together, get our own place."

Ron took a long moment before replying, Hermione was sure he hadn't heard her at all until he said, "Move where, Hermione? I don't have any money."

Hermione peered sideways at Ron. She felt awfully uncomfortable. "Well, I've got plenty of money saved, and if Harry wants to move in, all the better."

"Oh, that sounds fantastic," said Ron sarcastically. "I don't want to spend my life using your and Harry's money. I think I'll stay at the Burrow, thank you very much."

"Ron, you wouldn't have to live off of us all your life. You'll have a job eventually won't you?"

"I don't want a job, Hermione, I don't want to move out. I don't want anything. What I need is to stay at the Burrow with my family. If you and Harry want to move out together, that's fine." And with that he left.

Hermione spent much of her time after that contemplating on what she would do; she was seriously considering asking Harry to move out. The next day she ignored Ron altogether and decided to venture to London to look for a place to stay. She began with Diagon Alley.

When Hermione arrived at Diagon Alley it was late afternoon and she still found the place to be completely bursting with liveliness. The shops were packed to the brim with wizards and witches purchasing books, sweets and broomsticks. The cobbled street was congested with bustling busy people and there wasn't a grimace to be found. The end of the war had bought a forgotten feeling to all people; they no longer had to live in fear. Although it was known that there would always be dark magic, people were caught up in the undeniable fact that the most powerful dark wizard of all time was finally conquered.

Squeezing herself through the copious amount of witches and wizards, Hermione finally reached her destination: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She wasn't greeted with the expected sight but rather much the opposite. Where the large sign 'U-No-Poo' had once graced the window, it was now carelessly covered with a sign that read: 'Closed down forever. Get lost.'

She couldn't help but notice a lot of people were staring bewilderedly at the sign as they wandered past, and plenty of children were uttering loud expressions of grief.

"George," called out Hermione as she rapped on the door. "George, it's Hermione, let me in." When there was no answer Hermione brandished her wand and started expelling charms at the door handle. It popped open with a click. "George?" she called once again as she popped her head inside.

The shop was dimly lit by a ray of sunshine peeking through the sign on the outer window. Hermione could see all the shelves and bins full of joke products were in all tact, ready for purchasing, but the front room was empty of George. Slipping through the door, Hermione apprehensively made her way to the back room. She was fearful in what she'd find, however once the sight had greeted her she felt it was expected.

George was sitting on the floor moping between two cardboard boxes. He had an assortment of old apple cores by his feet, and his wand was carelessly pointed at a rat that was trying to scurry away from hexes.

"George." Hermione stood in the doorway looking down at the miserable sight. Eventually he looked up, tried a slight smile, and then decided it didn't feel right. "Hi," he mumbled.

"What have you been doing?" she asked as she eyed the apple cores. It was a pointless question. It was blatantly obvious that he hadn't been doing anything at all. His clothes were dirt ridden, as were his hands and his face, and cheeks seemed red - undoubtedly from crying. "I see you've closed the place down…" George nodded feebly. "You know Fred would have wanted you to keep it open, continue inventing and selling."

"What do you know what Fred would've wanted?" he said softly. "Fred's dead."

Hermione felt slightly taken aback. "I think you should know better than anyone what Fred wanted. I'm just saying that it was evidently obvious from where I'm standing that he would have wanted you to continue what you started." George didn't speak again after that. Even after what felt like five minutes of solid silence, he didn't say a word. "Well, I'll leave you alone then."

Walking out of the store, Hermione locked it once again and dove into the crammed street. Just as she was coming back up towards the Leaky Cauldron, explosions issued from behind, and with a force people shot forward, everyone pushing, pulling, and running in all directions. Panic arose as people in the crowd began shouting 'He's back! You-Know-Who isn't dead!' and before she knew it Hermione was falling into darkness.

Draco Malfoy was walking into Knockturn Alley as he heard explosions from behind. Turning to the source of the sound, he was greeted with large colourful explosions. Fireworks were issuing left, right, and centre. Firework Dragons were chasing people down the cobblestone street, and large rude words were going off in the sky. It was a familiar sight, much the same as he'd seen in his fifth year at Hogwarts. "Weasleys," he muttered.

Once people had gotten over the shock, they realized that the Dark Lord was in fact not back from the dead once again. Many had gathered by the shop windows to observe the displays of lights and sounds in the sky. Laughter was erupting, and children had their necks craned and arms outstretched in delight. As the commotion died down and the fireworks in the streets had floated away, one last explosion was set off. The red sparkling firework read, 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes, Now Open!'

Malfoy scoffed loudly as he read the last firework, and continued towards Borgin and Burkes. He knocked impertinently on the dusty door. The rustic closed sign was blatantly obvious; alas, Malfoy's business was urgent.

"I know you're in there, Borgin!" he yelled impatiently through the glass. The little man made his way to the door, taking a ridiculous amount of time.

"Go away!" he hissed through the crack in the open door. "I've closed down. The Ministry is raiding all of Knockturn Alley, destroying all dark artefacts – "

"I don't care," sneered Malfoy. He abruptly pushed a long list into Borgin's grubby hand. "These are all the possessions I need to be rid of before the Ministry raid our house once again. My parents are on trial in two weeks, and there's no way they're staying out of Azkaban with all this dark junk around the house. They have no chance in avoiding a sentence if they find it."

Borgin's sleep-deprived eyes bulged slightly as he scanned the list. "I can't take any of these off –"

"You will –"

"You don't scare me any longer, Draco." If it weren't for the blatant words of disrespect, Malfoy would have noticed the resentfulness in his tone alone. Although Borgin was two heads shorter than Malfoy, he spoke down to him as though age was much more of an advantage than height. "You don't have any rule over us minions any longer. The Dark Lord has fallen, as have most of the Death Eaters, and that mark on your arm certainly doesn't mean anything anymore." Malfoy clutched his forearm unconsciously.

Shoving the list back at Malfoy, Borgin slammed the door shut and dawdled into the darkness. Malfoy swore loudly and rubbed his head conspicuously. It wasn't until he'd stalked out of Knockturn Alley that the swimming thoughts of worry left his head. A limp figure on the ground had caught his attention. He bent slightly so he could catch a better glimpse of the motionless heap. He had to peer a second time just to confirm that it was none other than Hermione Granger.

Standing tall, Malfoy bared his teeth slightly, and his mouth contorted in disgust. Without thinking twice he continued on his journey out of Knockturn Alley. Barely a minute had passed when Malfoy spun on his heel and journeyed back to the unconscious body. He looked down at her, surveying head to toe apprehensively. Was this the real Hermione Granger? Her hair was clumsily arranged on her face, so he couldn't see any more than an eye, her nose and mouth. Moving on to look at her Muggle attire, Malfoy decided that he didn't need to spend his time differentiating one Muggle from the other. He turned once more, and continued in the direction he had intended.

It took him just a little longer this time to decide that it was in fact Hermione Granger. Although he didn't see why it mattered which Mudblood it was, he thought just maybe he could do something about her inept inconsideration for the walkway into Knockturn Alley. Who knew, perhaps he would benefit from 'rescuing' an unconscious friend of the famous Harry Potter.

Keeping his distance, Malfoy bent to rest on one knee. He removed a white handkerchief from his pocket that sported the lovely embroidered green letters 'DM', and dropped it carefully on Hermione's wrist. Grasping the handkerchief tightly, he stood abruptly, uncaringly pulling the arm on the unconscious body, and with a quick swivel, he was on his way to the Malfoy manor.


	2. Conversation with the unconscious

**Thanks to Lady Laurelin for betaing!**

**Please Review:)**

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Malfoy appeared in front of the familiar iron gates that guarded the main entrance to his mansion. He found Hermione Granger intact and still unconscious by his side. With the remnant of a sneer still on his face, he let the Mudblood's wrist drop from his clutch. As he went to levitate the unconscious body, he noticed that he had let her uncaringly land on a few spare rocks; there was now a trail of gleaming blood down her temple. Ignoring the harm he had caused, he continued up the gravel drive, wondering what he could possibly do with such an accidental find.

It was two days after Malfoy had come across the unconscious body of one of his most despised nemeses. He was staring down at her with utter wonder and curiosity. He was sure that she was still unconscious. It was two days after she'd had an accident of some sort, and she hadn't woken at all.

Bending down, he crouched by her head. He craned his neck and pushed the hair off her face with the tip of his wand. Her eyes didn't move, nor did her nose or mouth twitch. He thought of ways to check she was alive, but didn't want to have to touch her. 'What could possibly happen if I touched her skin?' he wondered. "Nothing," he answered himself.

His hand rested lazily over his knee, and then slowly and nervously it travelled down to Hermione's wrist. His fingers stretched out and lightly touched her cold skin. He took a sharp intake of breath. Although it took a moment, he eventually found a pulse; it was weak, barely there. He couldn't understand why she hadn't gained consciousness yet; it was bizarre. His finger twitched awkwardly as he removed his hand.

Trailing to the door, he took a quick double take as he thought he saw a glimmer of movement behind him. Perhaps it was the gleaming fire brackets playing tricks…

Malfoy sat up abruptly. He was drenched in cold sweat from head to toe; his head was throbbing and heart racing. His mind was swimming with visions, ideas, assumptions and thoughts about Azkaban and his parents. He had no clue as to what Azkaban looked like, as he'd never set foot there, however he could see it so clearly. 'It was just a dream,' he told himself. His parent's imprisonment in Azkaban had taken a toll on Malfoy. They were being held there until their sentencing in two weeks. The house was completely and utterly lonely; if it were not for the ancestors in the pictures on the wall, the house elf and the lone prisoner…Malfoy would go insane.

It was so hard for Malfoy to stray where he liked these days. He was frowned upon in public; his family name had been maligned. He had often taken to wearing a hooded robe and spending late nights at the Hog's Head. There was never a large crowd during the late hours of the night, usually just an old hag or few travellers from far corners of the world. He didn't need a large party to satisfy his need for company. A good Firewhiskey and the barman sufficed.

Climbing out of his colossal bed, he stripped off his pyjama pants and levitated a pair of trousers from his dresser. He lit his wand, and then threw on an old shirt and his robes. "Hattie," he called. Silence. "Hattie?" he called again. There was a crack. A house elf much the same as her predecessor, Dobby, had appeared. She had large green, tennis-ball sized eyes and a long thin nose; however, unlike Dobby, she had long, black straggly hair that cascaded all the way to the floor. She yawned unashamedly and scratched her stomach through a hole in her raggedy pillowcase.

"Hattie, go light the brackets in the cellar," Malfoy ordered.

"Yes, Master," she squeaked, and with another yawn and a crack was gone.

Once Malfoy had descended down to the cellar, he found the fire brackets expelling a vivid glow. The cold descent down the hall still made him shiver as much as last time; the hairs on the nape of his neck were erect. The thought of being so lonesome in such a large mansion made his muscles tighten and jaw clench in fear. He thought that perhaps visiting Granger would enforce the concept that he wasn't entirely alone, and it would definitely distract him from the tiresome dreams.

The cellar door creaked open, and Malfoy's wand light filled the dark space ahead. The brackets on the walls were lit; however, the light wasn't nearly enough to see the body lying in the centre. This time he moved more readily, and then paused before standing over her body.

"Granger?" he said loudly. Silence.

He looked behind himself conspicuously, as though someone might see him taking interest in the company of Hermione Granger.

"_Granger_?" he said even louder, nudging her with his foot.

He sat by her head and peered down for a moment, almost wishing he could speak to her. Dread flooded Malfoy as he thought that perhaps he was speaking and sitting with a dead body. Extending his hand, he touched Hermione's wrist once again. Her pulse was stronger. Just as his fear receded, it returned as Hermione's hand fiercely captured his wrist. Launching herself backwards, she toppled onto Malfoy, his wand flew from his fingers, and Hermione snatched it up. Heart hammering and mind racing, Malfoy began to squirm with panic.

"Why am I in your cellar, Malfoy?" asked Hermione severely. Her hair was cascading over his face, and all he could see were her dark brown eyes, levelled at him with a ferocious stare. Malfoy stopped restlessly moving and continued to watch Hermione's stern gaze. Their position was rather uncomfortable for Malfoy; his thighs were pinned by her knees, one hand trapped under his back and the other being held forcefully.

"Get off of me, Granger."

"Why am I _here_?" she said more forcefully, pushing her weight down.

Pushing violently, Malfoy threw Hermione with all the might he could manage. Dropping back, she fell harshly on her behind and let out a moan of pain. Malfoy stood, smirking with triumph as Hermione swore loudly. Tears were swelling in her eyes, and Malfoy couldn't help but not care. "Give me my wand," he ordered.

Muffling a sob she bowed her head, and then threw the wand viciously at Malfoy's chest. Lifting herself unsteadily, she moved gingerly to the door. "I'm leaving." She'd made it to the end of the hall before she realised she still lacked her own wand. Turning on the spot, she stared at the lone figure standing in the distant doorway. His blonde hair glimmered in the soft firelight, and for once the emotion gracing his face wasn't utter repulsion, or superiority; he looked rather soft, vacant.

"Where's my wand, Malfoy?"

He took his time, eventually deciding to walk the long stretch of hallway before answering. "You know, I'm home all alone, Granger."

Hermione stared at Malfoy as he continued to walk past. "Is that supposed to scare me?" she asked. "Or perhaps even excitement me?"

Malfoy stopped walking and turned his head in a haughty manner. "Don't flatter yourself, Granger."

"Look," pleaded Hermione, "just give me my wand. I need to leave."

"Why do you _need_ to leave?"

Although Hermione thought it was a peculiar question to come from Draco Malfoy, she humoured him, continuing to provide conversation, hoping that it would eventually lead to her wand. "I need to get home, to Ron," she told him.

"And why would you want to get back to Weasley?"

Truthfully, Hermione didn't have a clue. Did she want to see Ron? The last time she spoke to him it didn't end too well. Eventually she decided that she missed Ron's warm hugs, and followed Malfoy at a faster pace.

"Aren't you even interested in how you came to be here?" questioned Malfoy. "The Hogwarts know-it-all hasn't even asked the most obvious question yet."

They had reached a large landing that overlooked the house foyer. Malfoy pointed his wand at a silver serpent-head doorknob attached to a vast double-door and it swung open with a bang. Hermione was greeted with the most majestic bedroom she'd ever laid eyes on. The whole of The Burrow could have fit inside. The walls were covered in emerald green patterned wallpaper that played tricks on the eyes as the moonlight danced through the window. The main attraction was a large, dark-oak bed with a grand canopy. It was draped in sheets of green and silver silk. Although the bed was unmade, it still looked remarkably regal. Hermione thought the evident theme of Slytherin colours accessorising the house was rather unnerving. It woke her up to the fact that she was in the company of Draco Malfoy - at his residence.

Finally taking Malfoy's last words into consideration, she spoke her thoughts aloud. "How did I get here?"

Malfoy snatched up her wand from his bedside table and threw it lazily at Hermione. "I found you near Knockturn Alley two days ago, unconscious."

"_Two days ago_!" blurted Hermione. "I have to leave!"

"Go on then." Malfoy threw his shoes off and sat on his bed. Hermione went to swivel on the spot, but was stopped when Malfoy rudely interrupted her. "You can't Disapparate in here, Mudblood. You'll have to walk beyond the gates."

Hermione peered out of the window at the large iron gates and tutted loudly. They were rather far away. Spinning on her heel once more, she headed out the door. "Goodbye, Malfoy." And without bothering to look behind, she persevered down the stairs.

"You won't be able to get out," he called from the landing. "There's Muggle enchantments on the gate."

"I'm a witch," she said heatedly.

"Ah, but you're a Mudblood."

Hermione stopped walking. She stared acidly at the blonde boy smirking from above. She despised him, despised his look, walk, talk and attitude. She particularly hated his smug smirk and his pathetic air of supremacy. Despite all this revolt, she needed him to escape his presence. "Then walk me out," she ordered, continuing down the stairs. But when she didn't hear any footsteps behind, she turned once more. Malfoy was gone.

It took more time to walk up the stairs than it did to walk down; by the time Hermione reached the bedroom once more, it was locked. "Malfoy!" she yelled through the door. When there was no answer she began shooting spells at the serpent-head door handle; however, the door seemed to remain shut. "Malfoy, this is not funny."

The door opened slightly and Malfoy's face poked through. His nose was crinkled in malice and eyes levelled into a glare. "I'm not walking you anywhere, Granger. Feel free to walk _yourself_ out and be stunned to death. I'll dispose of your corpse in the morning." And he closed the door.

Hermione didn't bother using her wand this time, she bashed furiously on the door. "I need to leave!"

"You can leave in the morning," she heard through the door. "Sleep on the landing. I'm sure it's a little softer than the cellar ground."

Hermione gripped her wand with fury and kicked the door, causing only more unwanted pain. Sending a blast of fire from the end of her wand seemed to do nothing at all, not even blacken the wood. "You're keeping me prisoner!" she yelled, but there was no answer. Looking around, Hermione peered at the landing. As if she'd sleep on the floor once again. It was barbaric and preposterous.

She spent an long time searching the eerie house for Floo powder and a fireplace; however, she had decided to retreat upstairs to the dingy bedroom next to Malfoy's when she heard a creepy scurrying behind the antique furniture...

Malfoy lay in bed, smugly smiling to himself. It was an ingenious idea, he thought. The smartest witch in Hogwarts was in his possession, and he had several deeds to be done. The Mudblood would come in handy. And the company wouldn't be all too bad…

Hermione didn't sleep for even five hours; it was the early hours of the morning when she woke to see the sun peering through the tattered silk-green curtains. She felt utter relief at the fact that she'd see Ron today. She missed him a lot, considering she'd only been conscious for a few hours.

Knocking loudly on Malfoy's door she called out, "I want to leave, Malfoy." No answer. "Get off your arse, Malfoy, and open the door!" She banged loudly. Nobody could ignore banging that thunderous. When silence prevailed, she returned to the room beside Malfoy's and with all her energy and might shouted, "_EXPULSO_!"


	3. A sexist house elf and an unwanted guest

The wall exploded with menacing force. Pieces of debris flew through to the far end of Malfoy's room, and a rather large gaping hole was left where the curse had hit. For one fleeting moment, Hermione was scared she'd hit Malfoy's bed, until she climbed through the hole. She had missed by no more than a foot. To her satisfaction, Malfoy was sitting up in bed with the most horrified expression. He pulled his silk sheets over his bare chest when he realised Hermione was peering unashamedly.

"Are you effing _stupid_?"

Brandishing his wand he pointed it at Hermione, and she was forcefully tripped to the ground. Once she'd irately surfaced, Malfoy was clothed and standing over her, rather tall and threatening. His hard-set expression wasn't one she'd normally cross if she had the choice, but she was desperate in getting her way. "Ready to leave? Let's go then."

"My mother is going to kill you, Mudblood!" He pointed at the cavernous hole. "Literally going to kill you," he noted.

Hermione flicked her wand at the wall and all the scattered pieces of wreckage flitted back to where they belonged. The wallpaper glittered magically, as though it hadn't been disassembled on the floor just moments before. Hermione couldn't help but provide a smug smile.

"Don't look at me like that, Granger. It's seven o'clock on a Saturday."

Hermione scoffed. "By the looks of it, Malfoy, you have plenty of time to sleep whenever you like. Now walk me outside." Malfoy didn't look like he was going to agree. "Can't you just undo the enchantments from here?" she exclaimed restlessly.

"They're my father's enchantments; I have no clue how to undo them."

"Then give me some Floo powder!"

Malfoy laughed shortly. "I haven't used Floo powder since I've been able to Apparate!"

Suddenly a thought occurred to Hermione. In all the years she'd known Draco Malfoy, she'd never really known him at all. She'd never had the opportunity to survey his personality. From afar he looked like a cynical, self-obsessed, spoilt brat, but having the chance to study him at this moment made him look a little more complicated. Hermione could see his mind working a mile a minute. His eyes, like hers, showed he was evaluating and scheming, but about what, Hermione wasn't too sure.

"Why won't you let me leave?" she asked.

His answer was delayed. It took a moment in deciding how to best phrase this sentence. After all, he wasn't too experienced in asking for help. "I need –" he blurted.

"Need?"

"No, not need," he corrected hastily. "You need to –" his tongue juggled the concept of using the word 'help', but then decided otherwise " –do something for me. I need you to do a few things before I let you leave."

"Like what?" asked Hermione. "Clean your floors? As worthless as you think I am because of my blood status, I'm not doing your chores."

"I don't need you to clean my bloody floors! I have a house elf for that."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Come with me." His double-doors flew open with a flick of his wand, but before he could exit Hermione had taken him by the arm. He flinched from her grip. "I'm not doing anything for you, or staying here any longer without sending an owl to Ron and Harry first." Malfoy scowled. "_Please_?" she added.

"I'll show you what I need first."

They stood before a blank wall in the cellar that Hermione was so familiar with. With a few mute words and a tap of Malfoy's wand, the wall broke cleanly in the centre and slid apart to extend the existing room by another few yards. The hidden sector was filled with contraptions and apparatuses, shining, hissing or fuming with smoke. Hermione's mouth opened in minor admiration. It seemed as though she'd stepped into the department of mysteries once again. The objects before her were just as glamorous, yet Hermione guessed that being in the possession of Draco Malfoy, they must have been quite malevolent.

"I need you to help me destroy these dark artefacts. Borgin won't take them."

Hermione looked quizzical. "And why can't you destroy them by yourself? Why do you need my help?"

Malfoy sighed, looked up to the ceiling briefly and then without looking to Hermione he asked, "Do I really need to tell you _why_ I need your help?"

"If you'd like me to agree, then yes."

Hermione was enjoying watching Malfoy writhe in place, trying to think of ways to not compliment a Mudblood. "You know perfectly well that you're the – " he paused and contemplated on using the word cleverest " – don't make me say it, Granger. You know perfectly well that you should be able to accomplish how to destroy these objects. You can do the logical component, and I'll fill you in about the dark magic the artefact constitutes." He finally turned to look at Hermione. "Agreed?"

Hermione nodded slightly, staring at a large glass ball with an interior swimming with faintly, ghost-shaped screaming blurs. "Owl?" she asked.

"There's parchment on my desk in my bedroom. I'll send up the owl."

Hermione sat herself at Malfoy's desk, wincing with pain as the boniness of the chair embraced her hurt behind. Looking into the black shiny surface of the table, she surveyed her appearance briefly before brushing her hair off of her face, and then taking a quill to hand.

_Ron,_

_Sorry I didn't return after leaving for Diagon Alley. No need to worry, I'm –_

Hermione paused. Ron would become completely maniacal if he read the words Draco Malfoy, let alone if she told him she was doing a favour for him…

_I'm at my parent's house, whilst they get settled again. I'll be home in no time._

_I miss you._

_Love,_

_Hermione._

Marking the parchment with a kiss and a hug, she rolled it up and looked around the room, expectant for an owl. Crossing to the window, she became distracted by a photo. It was placed in a sleek silver frame, and the three people moving in the picture were all too distracted with each other to notice Hermione. Narcissa Malfoy, didn't have the familiar sneer on her beautiful face, neither did Lucius Malfoy. They were looking fondly down at a little pink bundle that must've been none other than Draco Malfoy. Despite the remnants of evil that glowed through their expression, there was an evident expression of utter bliss.

An eagle owl had appeared on the terrace, he clicked his beak palpably, letting Hermione know he was there. Tying the parchment to his leg, he cooed fondly and flew into the distance. Hermione couldn't help but smile at the opposite nature the eagle owl possessed, compared to his master.

When Hermione had descended back downstairs, Malfoy was sitting on a newly transfigured sofa at the far end of the room, surveying all of the objects. "I suppose you're hungry?" he questioned, without bothering to even briefly glance her way. "Mudblood's do eat, don't they?" A malice smirk crept across his pointed face.

"If you're going to continue degrading me, I'm not doing anything for you."

Malfoy ignored her. "Hattie?" he called. Nothing. "Hattie?" he said once again.

The squat, longhaired house elf appeared with a crack. "Oooh!" she squeaked. "A mistress - a mistress to serve!" And she dashed over to Hermione's feet, looking up admiringly. "What may Hattie get you, Miss?"

Hermione looked quite bewildered. "Ever met a sexist house elf?" asked Malfoy. He pointed at Hattie. "There's one."

She turned her head abruptly and glared her large green eyes at Malfoy. "Hattie is not sexist!" she protested. Turning back to Hermione, she planted a smile and batted her large eyelashes. "Mistresses are more fun to serve, they wear dresses and bows, and lipsticks –" Hermione's eyes diverted to Malfoy during Hattie's rant, and they couldn't help but share a look of complete puzzlement. It seemed that she'd come across another outspoken house elf like Dobby, however Hattie wanted nothing more than to wear pretty clothing and makeup.

At the end of her rant, Hattie had suddenly disappeared once again, and returned only moments later with a tray of sandwiches and butterbeer.

"I saw the article in the Daily Prophet about your trial," said Hermione, as she took a sip of Butterbeer. "How did you escape a sentence then?"

"My parents," he said simply. "I was put on trial almost immediately after the war. My parents took the blame; said I didn't know what I was doing." He said this as though it was the most remarkable idea, though truthfully, what Hermione couldn't see was the vile guilt he possessed inside. He wouldn't be able to live if his parents were sentenced for his wrongdoings.

Hermione scoffed. "You know perfectly well you knew what you were doing. You tried to kill Albus Dumbledore!"

Malfoy ignored Hermione and exhaled harshly. "I've decided we'll first destroy that ball of souls you were so fondly looking at just before," he said, as he paced up and down the room.

"And how exactly do you propose we destroy these objects?" She hungrily finished off the last of her sandwich. "I'm sure you have a lot of knowledge in how to use these dark objects, but not so much in how to destroy them." She peered at the hand of glory that was perched on it's own stand at the far wall.

"You'll have to go through our library and figure that out." He pointed to the ceiling. "It's directly above this room." Setting her tray down clumsily, Hermione ventured to the library. Malfoy disappeared for hours after that, though to where, she had no clue.

It hadn't been even twenty-four hours since the Mudblood had been awake. So far she had destroyed two artefacts without any help. Malfoy had spent much of his day pillaging through the bedroom next to his, removing anything that Hermione could find to hold against him or use to her advantage in anyway. All he found was a shabby black chest marked LM. The leather had been worn from the corner, and the topmost surface had singes and scorch marks. Inside contained old Hogwarts books, old Daily Prophets and photos of a young Lucius and Severus Snape. An unfamiliar feeling arose in his chest. It felt like ice water had filled his lungs and for a brief moment it was terribly hard to breathe. It was guilt, he supposed. Guilt he felt for not being able to kill Dumbledore. If he'd succeeded, Voldemort would have killed him, and Snape would most certainly be alive.

Taking out the photos, he placed them in a separate pile; the last to be placed on top was of an unfamiliar girl with dark auburn hair and recognizable green eyes, she was standing close to Snape, his arm caringly embraced around her shoulder.

Like the photos, he placed all the Daily Prophets in a pile, though unlike the photos, he burnt them with a jab of his wand. When he'd cleared of any derogatory evidence, he called Hattie to remove the dust from the grimy room. When she hadn't appeared after a few minutes, he went to search for her, grudgingly walking up the stairs, livid at the fact that he had to physically find help.

"One more time," he fumed under his breath. "Clothes…"

Reaching the top flight, he saw Hattie through an ajar door, talking animatedly. Hermione's voice was traveling through the air. Creeping up to the door, he peered through.

"Thank you, Hattie."

"Anything else, Miss?" asked Hattie fondly.

"No, thank you." And with a crack, Hattie had disappeared.

Walking around the bath, Hermione bent to feel the temperature of the water, and then, she dropped her robe. Malfoy stepped back vaguely, contemplated, and then decided to stay. His breathing heightened as he watched the naked brunette. Circling the bath, she stepped in at just the right place. Malfoy watched her curvaceous body hungrily; he surveyed her prominent chest with widened eyes and a brief quiver in his lip. His mind played with the word 'vulgar', but his eyes suggested otherwise. She was a Mudblood, but no different than any other female. She still possessed the same qualities as any other female. It was unbelievably enticing to watch.

He watched her succumb to the warm water, and momentarily levitate lone bubbles with her wand. His breathing began to ease, as all he could see for moments was her back, though the feeling he possessed in his stomach probed him to stare longer.

Flinching slightly, Hermione looked behind her, and noticing the door was ajar, closed it with a flick of her wand. Malfoy walked away. The feeling he had only moments ago was diminished, and though he craved for it once again, he departed down the stairs to deal with the house elf.

Hattie's presence made it bearable to be at the Malfoy mansion. She'd often pop up out of nowhere, and begin rambling about her Mistress Narcissa's extravagant dresses and robes, and how she found so much joy in cleaning them. At one point, she extracted a contraption, thin, gold and long, which you were to speak to so it would paint your face with the appropriate makeup. Apparently her Mistress had thrown it away, as it wasn't very effective.

Booming sounds came from the floor above, and Hattie looked up worryingly; Hermione followed suit. "HATTIE!" The house elf's great eyes expanded in horror as Malfoy's voice boomed off of the manor walls. Hattie hopped onto one foot, and then the other and decided to disappear. She appeared minutes later, with an unmistakable grimace.

"Hattie," began Hermione, as she peered over a vintage, musty leather-bound book. "Did you know Dobby?"

"No!' she said. "My Master speaks of Dobby very badly. He works for money!"

Although Hattie couldn't see it, she was just as bad as Dobby when it came to house elf duties. "You know it's not all too bad being paid to work, Hattie. I could get you work at Hogwarts – I'm sure your Master wouldn't mind giving you clothes."

Tears had begun to slowly trickle from her eyes. "Why would Master give Hattie clothes?" she wept.

"Well you're not entirely dedicated to serving like other house elves, are you? You don't obey Malfoy's orders at all." As tears continue to spill down onto Hattie's ratty pillowcase, Hermione changed her tune. "Don't worry, Hattie. You're doing a great job, I'm sure he's not going to give you clothes…"

Hattie took her time to compose herself. She wiped her nose on her grubby attire, and then sniffed gently. "Hattie's Master would never give me clothes," she said forcefully. "Hattie's Master is lonely without his family and Miss Pansy."

"Without Pansy?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Miss Pansy doesn't visit anymore, and Master Malfoy spends much of his time alone in the manor."

As Hattie continued to speak of Malfoy's misfortunes, Hermione couldn't help but feel slight empathy for him. It wasn't fun to be lonely, no matter how malicious you are. Nevertheless, she guessed that something would change her empathy for Malfoy sooner than later.

The next day, Hermione had personally destroyed half the artefacts herself. It wasn't an easy task. For many of the relics, there were special methods in destroying them, ways of reciting the spell, undoing the curse or opening the object. The ball of souls that Hermione started with, she found could be destroyed with physical force. For her second attempt at destroying it, she tried hurling the ball around the cellar, but it was barely scuffed in the end.

"Why the bloody hell are you making so much racket, Granger?" Malfoy yelled over the thunderous noise.

"I can't think of any other way to break it."

"Then leave it!" And he stormed off down the hall.

Hermione went rushing after Malfoy, the glass ball levitating behind her. "Malfoy, I'd like to leave now. I need to go back to The Burrow and – and visit my parents –"

"No."

Stepping harshly in Malfoy's path, she caused him to falter on one foot; he removed his wand from his pocket. The glass ball dropped to the ground heavily and shattered into a million pieces as Hermione directed her wand elsewhere. Ghostly, peculiar shapes drifted through the air, expelling haunting moans. Drifting towards the ceiling, they disappeared. "Why won't you let me leave?" questioned Hermione, diverting her attention from the glass shards.

"Because I know as soon as you leave you won't come back. I need you to destroy these things."

"Both of us know you don't need me to destroy anything. You need company and you're too ashamed to ask for it." Malfoy looked at Hermione scandalously; the nerve she had to suggest he needed company…

"There's three more objects left," he said hotly. "_Three_."

Hermione reflected on how long it would take to destroy three more objects; she could see Malfoy staring at her from the corner of her eye. He peered from her hazel eyes to her crossed arms, to her tapping foot. "What are you staring at?" she asked accusingly.

Malfoy didn't answer, but merely waked away. He couldn't help but envision Hermione stark naked, free. His face grew hot, and he looked down to his wand hoping it may help disperse of these images. Hermione had followed him; he could hear her irritating rambling, "Don't just walk away!"

As they reached the foyer, the main entrance swung open and in wafted the familiar overwhelming stench of flowery perfume. With it came the memorable face of Pansy Parkinson. Her blonde, tightly coiled ringlets glimmered in the sun streaming through behind her, and her pug nose was crinkled in bemusement, her mouth in a wide self-infatuated smile. "Draco," she chimed. And then, without the slightest transition her face fell; her mouth and nose contorted. She screeched a loud, 'Ugh!' and said, "Draco! What is the Mudblood doing here?" She pointed squarely at Hermione, as though Malfoy hadn't yet noticed her presence.


	4. A rude awakening

Pansy looked searchingly from Malfoy to Hermione, and back again. "I'm aware," Malfoy said briefly.

"My jeans!" she shrieked, pointing at Hermione's attire.

"Hattie gave them to me," Hermione said defensively, exposing her wand.

"But they're my jeans!" stressed Pansy. "You bought them for me!" she said to Malfoy.

"They're Muggle jeans, you've never worn them."

"But…" Pansy's rambling was muted by the loud cry from Malfoy's eagle owl. He'd swooped through the open doorway, causing Pansy to duck, whimpering a cry. She was not impressed when she resurfaced and straightened herself out. The large owl landed by Hermione's feet, and nipped at her shoe until she took the letter.

_Hermione,_

_I recognize that owl; it looks exactly like Malfoy's! I wrote to your parents' and they said you weren't there, they haven't seen you in days. Where are you? If you write back telling me you're at Draco Malfoy's for some insane reason, I'm going to have a mental fit. If you're not back at The Burrow or send me an owl soon, I'm going to search Draco Malfoy's house from top to bottom. I mean it, Hermione. _

_I want you home safe NOW._

_Ron_

Hermioneexhaled nervously. What was she to tell Ron when she arrived back at The Burrow? Her stomach twitched with guilt as she read the letter over once more. As she heard Malfoy snarl, "So where's Zabini?" to Pansy, Hermione reached for the pouch of Floo powder in her pocket. Blessing Hattie for scrounging the small amount of silvery dust, she ran to the nearest fire place, lit the fire, scattered the dust, and with one last look at Malfoy, shouted 'The Burrow!'

The arrival at The Burrow happened quite suddenly. Ron was sitting by the fireplace, waiting for Hermione to wander through the grate. As Hermione was fanning the soot out of the air, Ron came running towards her.

"Where have you been?" he said crossly, though he couldn't help but hug her tightly.

Ideas wafted into her head, and back out again. She couldn't think of a feasible excuse, and the distractible image of a startled Malfoy and irritated Pansy was still fresh in her memory. She waited until Ron had pulled away, and said with a stone hard, serious expression, "I was at Draco Malfoy's helping him destroy dark artefacts."

Ron's face had completely fallen. He let go of Hermione as he flared his nostrils and furrowed his brow. "You better be joking, Hermione."

Hermione kept a straight face to make sure Ron could see she wasn't joking. "No, Ron. I'm not joking. Now if you don't mind," she said stepping past Ron. "I'd like to see Ginny."

Ron stood on the spot rubbing his head irately. His face hadn't quite yet matched the deep red colour of his ears, but the anger emanating from him could be felt until Hermione had walked a clear meter away. She could feel his hard gaze on the back of her head, and hear his heavy infuriated breathing until she'd reached the stairway.

Ginny was sitting on her bed cross-legged, examining a book when Hermione entered her bedroom. "Hermione," she said with a smirk. "Have you been fraternizing with the enemy?"

"And what does that mean?" asked Hermione defensively.

"Ron told me he thought you were at Draco Malfoy's." She paused to flip a page in the book she was reading. "His eagle owl perched at our window seemed a bit obvious too. You should've seen Harry's face."

"I've been back not even a minute and it's already such an immense deal. I helped him – just did him a favour, that's all."

"Since when has Draco Malfoy deserved favours?" Ginny asked critically.

"Truthfully," said Hermione bashfully, "he wouldn't let me leave until I destroyed a few dark objects."

Ginny smiled. "That sounds more like Draco Malfoy."

Hermione looked to the book at Ginny's knees. "And what's this?"

"I found it in Ron's room when I was searching for Pig to send a letter." She tried suppressing a giggle, however didn't succeed. "It's called _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_, it's all about how to impress girls." She straightened her expression, and said, "And I found this inside." She handed a piece of parchment to Hermione.

_Ron,_

_I'm glad you've asked me for help; dad tried explaining sex to me when I was sixteen, it was a complete wreck, and Mum, well, you know. I don't need to tell you who is the right person, that part's up to you, but if you're sure it's Hermione, that's great! I think you two are perfect for each other._

Hermione couldn't help but smile apprehensively as she read on.

_Most importantly, let her know what you're thinking, hint, or ask her about it. And if she decides it's too soon, wait, it'll be worth it. I'm guessing you know what happens from here on, the most important thing: be gentle. If you need anymore help, come visit! _

_Good Luck,_

_Bill_

A twisted, nauseated feeling wrapped its self around Hermione's stomach, and tugged tightly. She couldn't help but feel nauseous. Of course it was something she'd thought about, but never to this extent. This was proof that it was finally on Ron's mind. The pressure that Hermione faced was vast; she became anxious. Reading the letter over once more, she handed it back to Ginny, looking searchingly.

"How exciting," said Ginny admiringly. "He asked Bill for advice. I must admit for Ron, that's rather sweet."

"Yes," mumbled Hermione. "Sweet…"

"Oh, you haven't heard!" exclaimed Ginny, standing from the bed. "Harry applied to become an Auror, and Kingsley came to The Burrow to congratulate him on being accepted. And now Ron's applying, did he tell you?"

Hermione shook her head briefly. All she could think about at the moment was Ron and the next moment she'd be alone with him. Would he try to seduce her, even whilst holding this grudge? Or would it be a few more days until she had to mentally and physically prepare for such an evening?

It had been a couple of days since Hermione has been back at The Burrow. The mood seemed a lot more cheerful than it had been when she'd left. There wasn't moping any longer and no more random fits of anger. Mrs Weasley was so fondly fussing over Hermione, for it was refreshing having another female, other than Ginny, around the house. "More eggs, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked Hermione, as Ron traipsed down the stairs.

Ron sat next to Hermione; she could see his jaw flinch violently from the corner of her eye. He looked at her momentarily, and then stared down at the plate that had been placed in front of him. So far it'd been a day of ignoring Hermione, and when forced to speak to her, he'd do it in a rather dull monotone. "I don't understand why you'd do such a thing like helping Malfoy." He spoke quietly so Mrs Weasley couldn't hear, and he remained staring down at his food despite Hermione's noticeable attempt to divert his attention. "After all that happened at the Malfoy's, I'm surprised that you'd ever want to set eyes on that place ever again…But I don't care why," he continued. "Are you finished?" He indicated towards Hermione's food scattered plate. "I'm not too hungry, will you come for a walk with me?"

Hermione went to nod, and Ron took her hand hastily. They strolled the length of the backyard, hand in hand. Hermione couldn't help but think of the blatant letter Ginny had found as Ron rambled about his Auror application.

"You know you better decide what you want to do with yourself next year," he told her.

"I know, Ron."

"I saw your letter from the Ministry, are you going to accept their offer?"

Hermione sighed and then smiled widely. "I think so. I'd like to take SPEW further, but I suppose I can do that in my spare time… They've arranged for me to spend time at the Ministry next week."

"Well, go on then!" he said energetically. He gave her a soft nudge. "Send the Ministry back a letter."

In the midst of the worry about Ron, Hermione hadn't had time to think twice about her career. She was glad that he was helping push her in the right direction. Smiling admiringly, she turned on her heel to walk back inside the house. "Hermione?" called Ron. Hermione turned back once again and looked expectantly. "I love you." It was the first time in a long time that Ron looked shy. He blushed bashfully as Hermione smiled and said, "I love you too, Ron."

Although those words could be expressed so easily on Ron's behalf, it wasn't nearly as easy for Hermione. She hoped that he hadn't seen her hesitate, and she was definitely pleased that he couldn't see her insides churning with doubt.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the one to ensure Hermione was considered for a role in the Ministry. As she was more than competent in several fields, she had been asked to spend a week examining what all the sectors of the Ministry consisted of, and where in particular she wanted to work.

Monday morning was positively worrying for the trio. Hermione was to begin at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Transportation, whilst Harry and Ron would spend the day learning about the duties of an Auror. Much to Hermione's dismay, Ron was rather cocky after having been accepted to be an Auror.

"I don't know why we need to sit in a shabby room for a whole day, learning about the _duties_ of an Auror," he said. "We've spent the past three years in close company with them! We must know more than anyone else." Hermione saw Harry roll his eyes.

Once arriving at the Department of Magical Transportation, Hermione was greeted by Madame Edgecombe. She soon remembered that she had had the pleasure of cursing her daughter in the fifth year. Madame Edgecombe was a squat woman with curly, strawberry-blonde hair just as her daughters, yet greying at the roots. She wore quite thin, rectangle glasses, and as she greeted Hermione she peered over the top of them and noticeably surveyed her from head to toe.

"Miss Granger, how very nice to meet you." Hermione couldn't help but hear insincerity. "There's been a change of plans," she said as she looked to the watch on her wrist. "You will be spending the day in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and there's a trial they'd like you to sit in on. It begins in five minutes so you must hurry." She tilted her head and smiled once again. "The Minister is waiting for you at the lift." And with that she waddled away.

Kingsley took Hermione to level ten. "I have to leave you here, Hermione," said Kingsley urgently. "I'm speaking with the new Aurors quite soon." Hermione smiled knowingly. "After the trial is over, you can meet me on level two." Before leaving, Kingsley opened the chamber door for Hermione where she was greeted with such an exciting hectic sight. Witches and wizards were bustling around all over the place, many starting to take seats and others carried away in conversation in cliques around the room.

Taking a lone seat, Hermione retrieved parchment and a quill from her bag, ready to take notes. It wasn't until much of the commotion had died down, and the Wizengamot had seated, that the chamber door opened creakily once more and in traipsed Draco Malfoy.


	5. Consequential smiles

Malfoy looked around the large circular room for a place to sit; his eyes fell upon the only availability, the seat beside Hermione Granger. Ignoring the temptation to transfigure his own chair, he sat beside her.

"What did I do to deserve the presence of the Mudblood once again?" he asked derisively. Hermione ignored Malfoy. He seemed oddly cocky for the son of two people that could be sentenced to life in Azkaban.

As the door opened once more, Lucius Malfoy walked in. His once glamorous, shining blonde hair was foul, dank and limp, and his face was grimy and lifeless. His eyes that Hermione had once seen possess fierce repulsion and racism were now hollow and grave, oddly unfazed by anything before him. It seemed that two weeks in Azkaban had shown Lucius Malfoy's true strengths – or rather that he didn't possess many.

Looking sideways, Hermione couldn't help but notice that Malfoy's face was rather blank as he stared down at his father. He seemed oddly uncaring. It wasn't until Hermione's quill started scratching that his face contorted in aggravation.

Lucius slowly prepared himself in the central chair; as he placed his arms and legs precisely, the chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He sneered at the pain, as the chief Wizengamot began to speak.

"Lucius Malfoy," said the wispy-white haired wizard. "You are on trial today for serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." The chief Wizengamot peered over his glasses down at the pale figure bound in the central, solitary chair. The chief continued on, introducing the trial and the Ministry interrogators by his side, and then he started listing the charges.

"To begin, you have been found guilty of possessing the Dark Mark on your forearm." Lucius levelled his dead eyes. "Secondly, you have admitted to serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and your spouse, Narcissa Malfoy has second the confession. Thirdly," he peered down at his parchment. "You have claimed to be under the Imperius curse. Is that correct?" Lucius nodded once as a hush whisper travelled through the courtroom. "You're trying to tell the Wizengamot, Lucius, that you have been under the Imperius curse for over a decade?" Scattered laughs broke out amongst the assembly.

"Sir," began Lucius. This was the first time his appearance had changed. He attempted to clasp his hands together, but the chains pulled hard against his wrists. If he wasn't bound to the chair, it seemed as though he would resort to beg on his knees. "I know what I have done is unforgivable, but it is not worth a life sentence!" he spoke scandalously, as though life in Azkaban may be preposterous for a self confessed Death Eater. "I would like to change my place in society, become a better wizard," he begged.

As silence prevailed after Lucius Malfoy's speech, several people turned to look at the Chief Wizengamot. He was closely examining the parchment in his hand for what felt like a lifetime, as he did so, two witnesses were brought in to testify. The evidence they provided was rather corrosive into Lucius Malfoy's lies.

After taking her last notes, Hermione finally turned to look at Malfoy. He was still blankly staring down at his father, not a hint of emotion in his face. Hermione couldn't help but stare for a rather prolonged time. Malfoy's scent was coercing her, even over the smell of mingled dirt and sweat that Lucius had bought in, his sweet scent was overbearing.

"I have come to the conclusion," finally said the wispy-haired wizard. "That the Wizengamot will continue your trial next week, in the mean time you will return to Azkaban."

Whispering broke out through the congregation. Lucius Malfoy was pulled away leaving echoing screams in the courtroom. He could be heard all the way down the hall, "No, _please_!"

Even though Malfoy wasn't showing any sign of vulnerability, Hermione decided to voice her support. "Don't worry," she stated briefly.

"Shut up, Granger," he shot as he stared down to where his father sat moments before.

"I was only trying to comfort you," she said pointedly. "But I suppose all I could expect is your usual abrasive manner." Malfoy ignored her attempt to insult, so she tried once more. "How did your reunion with Pansy end?"

This was the first time Malfoy had looked to Hermione and acknowledged she was actually sitting beside him. She noticed he looked stunned and frightened. It seemed that it was possible for Draco Malfoy to feel emotions; he looked hurt. She couldn't help but feel empathy for him once again. "What do you mean reunion?" He didn't bother to let her answer. "You've been talking with that house elf, haven't you?"

"You mean Hattie? Yes, I've been speaking with her."

"Keep your fat head out of it, Mudblood," he hissed. "You've got enough useless information in there, you don't need any new knowledge of me." He looked away pointedly.

"Did you destroy the other artefacts?" she asked.

"No, I didn't. I took two of the objects to a field in northern England, and kept one for my self." He laughed arrogantly. "The stupid Aurors found the room through the cellar, but didn't think to look in the grounds."

"Why didn't you just rid of all the other objects in the same field?" she asked heatedly. "You didn't need me at all!" It had become quite obvious that ignorance was one of Malfoy's excessive habits. Once again he refused to take any notice of Hermione. "Let me guess, you kept the hand of glory?"

A smirk crept across Malfoy's face, and before Hermione could continue arguing, Narcissa Malfoy had been escorted into the courtroom. She was bound to the same solitary chair as her husband, and although her exterior was much like Lucius', dishevelled and dirty, she couldn't help but wear an appearance of utmost irritation rather than vacancy. Her hollow eyes surveyed the room and came across her son. Mustering up the small amount of life she still had in her eyes, she sent a concise smile his way. Even over the loud buzzing of conversation throughout the chambers, Hermione could hear Malfoy's deep breathing, and catching a quick glimpse of him, she could see slight tears welling in his grey eyes.

As she turned back to look down as Narcissa, she could see her observing her conspicuously in return. No matter how lacking she was in life, a stare as such from Narcissa was so penetrative; she knew what she must have been thinking.

The trial for Narcissa Malfoy was over in half the time of her husband's, and unlike Lucius, she was cleared of all charges. As her freedom had been confirmed, she smiled graciously and a tear streaked its way through the dirt on her fair cheek. Once the assembly had departed from the courtroom, Narcissa was free of her bonds and took Malfoy into a tight embrace. Although in any other situation Malfoy would push her away, he willingly received her affection, and then, after hesitating for a moment, he hugged his scrawny mother.

Hermione was the last to leave the courtroom, just after Malfoy and Narcissa. She couldn't help but hear Narcissa audibly ask, "And why were you sitting next to that Mudblood?" as she clung onto her sons elbow. Malfoy didn't answer, but as he turned the corner he looked back towards Hermione and smiled momentarily. For the first time in her life she thought she saw Malfoy looking sincere, he wasn't mocking nor sneering, blank or hostile, just truly sincere.

After the next day at the Ministry, Hermione had a fair idea of where she wanted to work. The Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was her most favourable, and it would let her continue her work on the welfare of House Elves. At the end of the week there was a big congratulatory lunch in celebration of Harry, Ron and Hermione's new careers. Mrs Weasley prepared her usual feast, and all the normal party folk were invited. It was bare around the table without Lupin, Tonks and Fred but it didn't bring the mood down at all. Harry spent most of the feast hand in hand with Ginny, whom was quite giggly. As Mrs Weasley's continued to eye the two of them nervously, she was ignorant to the fact that Ron had spent much of his time with his spare hand on Hermione's knee.

Nervousness flooded Hermione; she couldn't help but incessantly pay attention to Ron's stray limb. Her appetite decreased as she critically considered whether Ron was the right person for her; it confused her not knowing why she doubted Ron at all… So many thoughts arose and dispersed from her head. She felt like she was going silently insane; it wasn't until Ron had cornered her in his room that it began to show.

"Ron, just a moment –" Ron had kissed Hermione fervently, pushing her onto his flimsy bed. She pushed him off once more. "Ron!"

"What?" he asked innocently, as though he hadn't been mauling her face. When Hermione couldn't find the words to explain, Ron advanced on her once more. He wasn't applying Bill's advice at all. He hadn't let her know what was on his mind; although it was so blatantly obvious, it concerned Hermione to think he was being so ignorant in her feelings. It didn't help that Ron looked utterly unattractive as he went to smother Hermione once more.

Pushing him off again, she decided she needed to get away. She ran from the room, without so much as a glance back at the bemused Ron. Taking a pinch of powder from the Floo pot, she threw it into a lit fire and voiced the first place that came to mind…

For the few moments that Hermione was spinning, she couldn't help but feel discouraged; she felt it was the worst idea she'd had. As she landed unsteadily at the other grate, she looked around at the familiar surroundings of the Malfoy mansion. Tears began to rain down her cheeks, as she felt so horribly confused.

Throwing Floo powder into the fire, she returned to The Burrow. She expected Ron to be waiting for her once again, but the room was empty. His voice seemed to be coming from the kitchen.

"I don't know what's wrong with her…"

"Maybe you should visit Bill?" suggested Harry.

Hermione didn't wait for Ron's response. She had launched herself into the flames once more, and was travelling back to the previous destination. Arriving at the Malfoy mansion again, she told herself she was in love with Ron, over and over she reminded herself, yet she was so curious about Malfoy. She could envision him so clearly; see him how she wanted to see him – smiling.

Despite the horrid nature she knew in Malfoy, she believed there was something more. It had been years of waiting for Ron to find the nerve to express what he felt, and all of a sudden it was too much; perhaps not even what she wanted. Hermione walked the length of the room and back again, before feeling she should go back to The Burrow and stay there. She wobbled on one foot, stood still for a moment, and then began swiftly up the stairs, the pale faces in the portraits staring critically.

As she walked the long flight, she had so much time to reflect. She pondered on what would happen if she came across Narcissa Malfoy, or even Hattie. She thought of what she could possibly say to Malfoy when she found him. Would he curse her? Throw her from his house?

Once she'd reached the landing, she found the bedroom door ajar. Bursting in, she stopped abruptly, standing before a shirtless Malfoy. He swore loudly and removed his wand from his pocket; Hermione didn't reveal her wand, she merely stood staring. Her cheeks had flushed red with humiliation and she held her breath momentarily, as though it would ease some of the shame. She had just intruded Draco Malfoy's house, and caught him slightly lacking in clothing once again. Why? She didn't exactly know.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Granger?" he sneered. "How did you get in here?"

Without thinking the consequences through for once, Hermione advanced on Malfoy and took his lips in hers. It was one of the most daring moments of her life, but ended brusquely as Malfoy pushed her off.

"What did I do to deserve that?" he asked acidly.

"That's a bit harsh," she murmured, still staring avidly. His penetrative eyes were surveying Hermione severely. It seemed as though he could see through her, right off of the landing. What Hermione didn't know was that the unexpected kiss had arose a feeling in Malfoy that he'd felt only days ago. The vision of a naked Hermione Granger surfaced in his mind, and he couldn't pretend that he was entirely disgusted anymore.

"You're a Mudblood," he reminded her. "I don't want to look at you, let alone have your presence in my mansion or your taste in my mouth." His sneer was so venomous it made Hermione's insides curdle with hurt. "I save you, and you try to thank me with sex?"

"Save me?" Hermione laughed. Perhaps this was what saving looked like in Malfoy's eyes. After all he didn't seem the bravest person in the world. "You didn't save me," she scoffed. "You took me unwillingly and entrapped me for the sake of it."

"Who cares, Granger," he hissed. "I want you to get away from me. Even if I were forced to fornicate with a Mudblood I wouldn't choose one that looked like a beaver."

Hermione tried to mute the fact she was hurt. "At least I don't look like an ugly breed of dog!"

Malfoy's face contorted, and just as he was about to retort, Hermione had turned and began her way down the stairway. The people in the portraits hissed abuse her way; the jeering made her even angrier. The infuriation seethed from every orifice of Hermione, her jaw was clenched so hard her hearing had become muffled, she could hear Malfoy yelling abuse down the stairway but with a mixture of hurt and fury she ignored him. It wasn't until she realised she could prove Malfoy wrong that she turned back and made her way upstairs once more. With her mind set on one thing and the burning lust that had been sparked inside, she intruded Malfoy's bedroom.

Turning, his steel grey eyes were wide with disbelief. He could see it so blatantly; she was advancing in what looked like slow motion, and although his mind said no, his senses said otherwise. Hermione took Malfoy's lips in hers once more and falling back they landed on Malfoy's plush bed.

**I've decided this story is too smutty for here so go to my profile if you'd like to know where to read the rest!**


	6. Epiphany

**People keep favouriting this story since I've refused to update it, so I guess I'll just update it despite the smuttiness. **

As Malfoy succumbed to the violation, his body was overwhelmed with the amazing feeling of trepidation and excitement. He couldn't help but want to experience every part of Hermione's body in return. He expected a Mudblood to taste different, but in fact she tasted better than anything had in his life. He was becoming rapidly excited that she wouldn't take no for an answer. She'd chased him, been repelled and still came back like an obedient puppy. Hermione wasn't remotely unattractive any longer, rather the opposite, entirely what he wanted and needed.

As Hermione broke for air, she stared down at Malfoy, her hair loose over his face. It was a reminder of the day she awoke in his cellar, petrified. She stared into his hollow eyes, and noticed something unfamiliar, something that she liked. The thought of Ron hadn't yet come across Hermione's mind, she was too lost in the moment; excited about what was about to happen, aroused about the present events.

Hermione stood suddenly, pointed her wand over her shoulder and locked the door. It was a picture perfect moment. Through the window the sun was setting beyond the iron gate, and the orange glow was swimming throughout the bedroom. Light gleamed off the walls, creating a magical light around Malfoy and Hermione. Standing like the smirking brunette before him, Malfoy removed his half buttoned shirt. He took his wand from his pant pocket and made a slashing motion over Hermione's chest, causing her loose shirt to fall to the floor in pieces.

Throwing her down on the bed, Malfoy began groping avariciously. Within moments he'd stripped her of her attire, leaving her vulnerable and cold. Perching on his knees, he stared down admiringly. The fight to suppress a smile was quickly lost as he was completely taken by this miraculous vision. She was defiantly flawless. She smirked insubordinately with her head titled on a silk green pillow; watching anxiously, as Malfoy reviewed every inch. Her breasts sat perfectly sculpted and round on her chest; they didn't weigh left, nor did they veer right. Her dark nipples were erect, waiting in suspense for contact, and her stomach was flat, falling into her back so her pelvis bone was attractively visible.

He reached his most desirable part of Hermione's anatomy and celebrated by extending his finger, fooling her once, almost twice, and then finally laid it gently on her skin. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes tightly. With just one finger Malfoy had given Hermione more pleasure than anyone else in her lifetime, more than Victor Krum, Ron, or even her beloved books. He continued to explore every orifice of Hermione's body with hands and tongue. Stripping of his remaining clothes he positioned himself dominantly so he could look directly into Hermione's eyes once more. As his hard masculinity hung free on Hermione's pelvis, Malfoy considered what the next venture would mean, and the damage that had already been done… Kissing her intensely, he planted himself inside with a slight lack of notice.

She cried out in pain and for that brief moment wished she wasn't laid beneath Malfoy. Breathing heavily, Hermione looked up to see the blonde staring at her intriguingly, his brow furrowed. "Granger…" Hermione held her breath, expectant for a verbal abuse. "Was that your virginity I just perforated?" She nodded briefly, shyly, but became more encouraged when Malfoy smiled amusingly. "And you gave it to me," he said slyly. "I'm flattered." And with a deep thrust he penetrated Hermione deeper until she cried out once more. Over and over he repeated until her moaning had satisfied him.

Ideally, it was absolutely everything Hermione expected, and plenty more. His soft, pale skin was so enticing to touch; she became greedy at the thought that she may never touch such skin again. She disposed the yearning for Malfoy's feel by pulling him closer, her arms wrapped around the circumference of his shoulders as far as they would go. She was engulfed with pleasure as their chests brushed one another and Malfoy kissed her viciously. Arching her back, Hermione rose from the bed and Malfoy held her tightly. It was the most passionate, exciting and nervous moment of Hermione's life all in one, and she didn't want it to end...

As Malfoy came, he moaned euphorically. Once their hastened breathing had hindered, they pulled apart their sweaty torsos to look at each other. It seemed that even after all that fervour, Hermione could only look Malfoy in the eyes momentarily; however after disconnecting their bodies and dressing, it became a little easier.

"Here." Malfoy had thrown what looked much like an old Hogwarts shirt to Hermione. "You can wear that, unless you'd like to repair those dregs." He pointed to the pieces of stray cloth on the ground.

"Thanks," muttered Hermione, as she shrunk the shirt accordingly.

Conversation seemed to have been stunted. There was not a single thing Hermione nor Malfoy could think to say; so with one last fleeting look, Hermione exited the bedroom. "Granger," she heard. Poking her head around the door, Malfoy threw her a little pouch that she soon found to be Floo powder. Her spirits dropped at the vacant expression he'd just supplied, and she continued on her way.

Arriving back at The Burrow, Hermione found it to be quite bare. Mr and Mrs Weasley's voices were now drifting from the kitchen, rather than Ron and Harry's. Running upstairs before she could be seen, Hermione washed herself vigorously; her face was ashen from the numerous times she'd travelled by Floo, and she had the intermingled smells of Malfoy's essence and sweet sweat on her skin.

Descending to the kitchen she was greeted with a beaming Mrs Weasley. She had been humming loudly to the booming radio, and Mr Weasley was reading what looked like a Muggle newspaper. "Oh dear," she said with an air of surprise. "I thought you were at Diagon Alley with Harry, Ron and Ginny."

"No, no, I thought I'd get some alone time," she lied.

As Mr Weasley looked up from the newspaper and said, "Fascinating!" an owl had swooped through the open window and dropped two small thick envelopes in between him and Hermione. Noticing the seal on the back belonged to the Ministry; Hermione ripped it open eagerly and began to read.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_In light of the success the Wizarding world has achieved in conquering He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Ministry will be holding a celebration ball. The ball will consist of dinner, dancing and celebration of all those involved in the great defeat. _

Another owl had arrived with two envelopes as Hermione read on. She noticed that the invite permitted an additional guest; her mind came across Ron and for the first time that night she felt a slight pang of remorse. She wondered why she didn't feel more culpability, but as Ron, Ginny and Harry traipsed in the door, the guilt overwhelmed her.

"Hermione where'd you get to again?" asked Ron suspiciously as kissed her on the cheek.

"You've got a letter," she said equivocally.

Ron smiled broadly as he read, and then it faded. "I'll need new dress robes!" Ron's inner child shone through as he nagged his mother for new robes. Hermione couldn't help but become aggravated at such a childish act.

Ginny had just read over Harry's invite. "Hermione, we'll have to go buy new dress robes this weekend. Oh, I can't wait!" She took Hermione's arm and dragged her to her bedroom, both talking zealously about the ball. Ginny was so excited about spending such a glamorous magical night with Harry before she was to return to Hogwarts, and at this stage Hermione was thrilled about not having to be trapped in Ron's room.

It had been over a week since Hermione had returned from the occurrences at Draco Malfoy's. She'd think about it for hours on end, and sometimes not at all for a whole day. Reminiscing about Malfoy's warmth within her and his sweaty against hers, it made her shiver. At moments she prayed for more and contemplated returning to his mansion unannounced, though this time her head told her otherwise. She'd proved to Malfoy that she wasn't just an ugly Mudblood, she was a woman, a witch, a witch with plenty to offer; and for the moment that would keep her content.

Between having to divert Ron's attention, and preparing to work for the ministry, Hermione was completely fatigued. Her spirits were lifted vaguely when the day of the Ministry ball arrived. By seven o' clock on Saturday night, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione had arrived at the Ministry; the ball was being held in the atrium.

If it were possible, the atrium looked bigger than before, even with the lavish round tables that were assorted everywhere. The beautiful blue ceiling was glittering with golden decorations - minuscule fairies that danced around in circles to the hushed orchestra, fluttering their wings. The tables that were surrounding the designated dance floor were dressed in matching blue, with beautiful silver tableware and matching goblets.

"This is so extravagant," said Hermione in utter awe, as Ron gallantly held out his arm.

Seating at their table, Hermione peered around at the colourful crowd. Everyone was wearing such excessive robes; she'd never seen such a thing. The women in this room made the girls at the Hogwarts ball look like children.

"These are goblin made!" exclaimed Mr Weasley, as he held up the heavy silver plate.

"Such lengths the Ministry has gone to," said Ginny, as she eyed the small fairies dancing around the central table candle. One of the golden little creatures blew a kiss to Harry, and Ginny whipped out her wand and transfigured her into a button. Hermione and Ginny giggled frivolously at Harry and Ron's startled faces, and the other fairies flew away. It may have been the recent cruel joke upon the fairy, or the two glasses of champagne Hermione had already had, but the night was beginning off rather well.

Once everyone had taken their appropriate seats, and the last of the late guests had filed in, Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice magically boomed around the hall. Perched high on a platform overlooking the dance floor, Kingsley welcomed the assembly and introduced the evening.

"We are here tonight to thank all of those involved in the destruction and downfall of Voldemort and his followers." The room hushed entirely at the mention of such an unforgivable name, and Kingsley, smiling boldly in his gleaming purple robes, continued on. "Before we begin the feast, I'd like to personally recognize all of those who assisted in the final war. To begin with, the late Albus Dumbledore who was a vital part in both first and last war. To Albus." And he conjured a goblet out of nowhere and raised it as the party mimicked 'To Albus'. "To the late Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Fred Weasley." As tears arose in Hermione's eyes she let them fall, she could see Harry a chair or two away, fighting back the urge to mourn in public.

Kingsley continued with listing those who'd passed away in the battles, even those who died nearly eighteen years ago, like James and Lily. "And now," said Kingsley, "for those who still remain with us today." He cleared his throat. "The Hogwarts staff: Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick…" And he named all of the Hogwarts staff that had assisted in the final battle. Those who were present stood from where they were sitting to accept thunderous applause. Kingsley continued on by naming the Hogwarts students and Dumbledore's Army members that had fought. Ginny was first to be named, and then Neville who stood shakily and took a slight bow with a hesitant smile. His grandmother who was seated beside him was clapping the most vociferous of all, tears gleaming in her aged eyes.

After he'd read all of the members that had remained alive to fight after the Ministry overhaul, Kingsley had reached the bottom of the lengthy list. "And finally," said Kingsley. "The three people that solved how to conquer Voldemort, not only once but numerous times… Miss Hermione Granger." Hermione stood proudly and smiled appreciatively towards Kingsley. "Mr Ronald Weasley – Ron stood clumsily with his familiar red-tinged ears – And _Harry Potter_." The applause for Harry was so deafening it echoed through out the sizeable atrium, bouncing back and forth off the walls. As Harry stood, so did every other being that accompanied that room. Every face wore an appreciative smile, and if not a smile then tears of happiness.

Once the applause had finally died down, Kingsley presented a large plaque that bore the names of all those that had passed in the war. Harry also received his own monument that was to be hung in the atrium; it bore a story of sort, which explained Harry's adventures beginning from the day he was born, to the death of Lord Voldemort. "Thank you," concluded Kingsley. "Please enjoy the night."

Applause began and then ceased quickly as the orchestra commenced their jubilant tunes. Looking down to the menus that were before them, each spoke to their silver plates, ordering their ideal cuisines. Everyone began to eat ravenously, and before they knew it, it was time for dessert. The mood throughout the atrium was so elated; people were conversing, debating, laughing, romanticizing or even drunkenly making a fool of themselves. Each table was bursting at the seams with liveliness, Hermione's table in particular were fondly reminiscing the first day of Hogwarts for the trio.

"Ginny's face when she saw Harry," laughed Ron audaciously.

"All of you were so small," said Mrs Weasley fondly.

"And Neville," recalled Harry. "Neville was searching for his toad." He nodded at Hermione. "That's how we came across you."

The recollections continued until the orchestra had adopted a few more members and adapted into a large band. The music began to blare and the singer crooned over it smoothly. Witches and wizards began to grace the dance floor broadcasting their talents, and familiar faces were first to take their place. Professor McGonagall was traipsing around hand in hand with Professor Slughorn, laughing animatedly, and Harry and Ginny were soon following.

"Would you like to dance, Hermione?" asked Ron. He took her hand without waiting for a reply, and slightly unsteady on her feet, she followed Ron's lead and danced eagerly.

Draco Malfoy sat only a couple of yards away, both his parents in company. Lucius Malfoy had been denied a jail term, but was now on probation. The Malfoy's return to adequate society began tonight; they were to prove they were no longer affiliated with dark arts, and possessed such dark beliefs. This was the beginning of a new way of life.

Malfoy couldn't help but stare intriguingly at the vivaciously dancing Mudblood. Even with the ugly excuse for a boyfriend hanging off of her, she looked absolutely captivating. Her hair, beautiful drop-curls swayed with the music as she did, and her velvety dress shone a deep luscious red. Like her hair, her dress loosely bounced left and right as she danced and swayed. Her chest did much the same, bouncing in its loose support. He couldn't help but feel slightly roused by the sight of her, and her long bare legs helped to fuel the emotion. It reminded him of the passionate experience he'd taken part in only days ago.

Unable to suppress his feeling any longer he decided to act on it. His parents had just taken to the floor as a slow ballad began to play, and he followed shortly behind them, halting beside Hermione and Ron.

"May I have this dance?" he asked Hermione, with no recognition of the tall aggravated redhead.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," spat Ron, as he pulled his girlfriend closer.

"Don't get so protective of what you haven't got," sneered Malfoy.

"And what's that meant to mean!"

Malfoy changed his tune after realising Hermione's pleading expression. "I'm not going to kill her, you'll get her back –"

Hermione butted in. "It's fine, Ron." And she hastily slipped from his grasp and stood before Malfoy. He offered his hand, and pulled her close like Ron did only moments ago. As they danced off, the conceited blonde watched his enemy tauntingly.

Lucky for Ron he wasn't anywhere near Hermione anymore, as he had adapted to the colour of her dress. He watched partially from the near centre of the dance floor, through the couples swaying past him. Malfoy's infamous conceited smirk made him uneasy; just as the tall blonde caught Ron's eye he moved his hand down the small of Hermione's back and onto her behind. Ron was so tempted to curse him there and then if it were not for the hundreds of important people in such close vicinity. He stalked off back to his table where he took a seat directly facing the dance floor, and began fuming to Harry.

"The slimy git," hissed Ron. "He's touching her! Dancing with her!"

"Who is?" asked Harry, with a stray laugh from the previous joke.

"Draco Malfoy."

Harry's face dropped. "You're joking."

"Never in a million years would he touch Hermione… unless he was on his deathbed and she possessed some magical antidote." Ron shrugged as Harry looked inquisitively at his attempt to explain Malfoy's desperate situation.

"Perhaps this is his way of changing his life around; the Malfoy's aren't allowed to have the same point of views they used to. He's probably just showing off for the Ministry workers."

"There's not even anything I can do about it!" seethed Ron. "Mum and dad'll kill me if I make a scene."

Harry wasn't paying any attention as he was now absent-mindedly looking at Ginny. She was dancing with Neville, and he couldn't help but feel he'd never seen her look so stunning. As Harry pretended to listen to Ron's whinging, Malfoy and Hermione continued to dance.

Hermione looked up in to those silver eyes she'd become so fond of. "Why?" she asked.

"Do I have to have a reason?" he asked innocently.

"You did it to annoy Ron, didn't you?"

"He looks so vile when he turns that shade of red." Malfoy noticed Hermione's levelled eyes. Even though she wasn't romantically fond of Ron at the moment, she had no reason to pick at his faults. "Also," continued Malfoy. "The Ministry are forcing me to change my beliefs in society. Unfortunately they couldn't be there to watch me have sex with a Mudblood, so I have to parade around the dance floor with one instead."

"Keep your voice down!" hissed Hermione. Malfoy contorted his face, and bared his teeth; he detested being told what to do.

As they moved leisurely to the music, Malfoy pulled Hermione in closer, she noticed his bold gesture and couldn't help but admire it greatly. Closing her eyes briefly, she moved her face towards his neck and discreetly inhaled his sweet cologne.

"Don't do this here, Malfoy," she whispered.

"Is there really a better time than this?" He eyed her curvaceous chest impatiently.

Hermione felt so trapped. She wanted to go one way, but should've been heading the other. Eyeing the table where Ron sat, she noticed he was in a very one-sided conversation with Neville; so only feeling slightly remorseful, she followed Malfoy. He held her hand tightly, threading her through the swaying couples and down to the end of the atrium. They ran through the long dark hall until they reached the lift. "The tenth floor," Hermione whispered.


	7. Can’t go back

As the lift sped to the ninth floor, Malfoy and Hermione groped covetously and the dim light above them flickered rhythmically. The agility of the lift had caused them to end up on the ground. Spilling out at their destination, Hermione's back was graced with the steely touch of stone. 

"Quick," hissed Hermione. She had pushed Malfoy off of her and sped to the staircase. Before reaching even the second step, she was stopped by a stern hold on her shoulder. Malfoy spun her harshly, and pushed her against the chilly wall. He had moved with such hostility and swiftness until now… Now with his face barely an inch from Hermione's, he exhaled leisurely; his warm breath on Hermione's lips was peppery, it made her mouth tingle.

Surrendering to Malfoy's lips, Hermione fiddled with his robes until they'd loosened. She continued to play, scaling his arm as they kissed and her mind became preoccupied as she came across raised skin. Pulling back Malfoy's sleeve, Hermione stared down at what looked like a tattoo wholly lacking in ink. His hand tried to flinch from Hermione's grasp as she continued to stare.

"What happened to your Dark Mark?" she asked Malfoy softly.

"It scarred." Where it once shone black when Voldemort was at his highest power, it was now a faint white; a raised scar in the shape of the haunting skull. Hermione ran her fingers over it once more and smiled. "A reminder," sneered Malfoy.

It was something that intrigued her, the scar on Malfoy's wrist. As stereotypical as it felt, the scar made him more appealing. It was notable that he was nothing more than a scared little boy, desperate for his mother, but this scar poised the question, perhaps there was something beneath his harsh exterior.

Lacking in notice, Malfoy spun Hermione around and pushed her against the rough wall again. Relaxing his weight against her, he glided his hands down Hermione's thin waist to her shapely hips. Hermione could feel his lips in the crevasse of her neck, smiling irreverently.

It was such an invigorating feeling doing something wrong, bad, something that was frowned upon. Not only was she fornicating in public, but she was doing it with one of the most malicious people in the wizarding world. It was the same rush Hermione received when she helped Harry to discover new secrets and methods to conquer Voldemort. Though in this case, Hermione knew she was doing more bad than good.

As Malfoy searched her underwear ravenously, the impact of what Hermione was doing hit her harder. Ron was just floors above, probably wondering where his girlfriend had gone. Whilst Malfoy penetrated Hermione, so did the agonizing guilt. Even though it felt so unbelievably amazing standing with Malfoy inside of her, the feeling of remorse was too overwhelming to enjoy the moment.

As it had been for the past several years, looking at Hermione Granger brought bold envisions of the word 'Mudblood' to his mind. It had been that way since he was young. Naive and gullible, his mother and father impressed their beliefs on him, suggesting how worthless Mudbloods and Muggles were, and the importance in Voldemort's rule. With deeper thought on the subject Malfoy could recall Lucius peering over the Daily Prophet, "Vermin," he hissed. "These Mudbloods are vermin, Draco."

And that's all they seemed for years, worthless, dirty vermin. People at such a superior height in society shouldn't have to fraternize with such an inadequate breed. But for the first time in his life, Malfoy felt differently. This Mudblood in particular was everything he wanted in his life, she was attractive, intelligent, fiery and sentimental when needed. If it weren't for her corrupt blood he'd take a chance in associating with her in public. After all, the world of Gryffindor and Slytherin had ended with the final year at Hogwarts; now everybody was in much the same place.

Malfoy's breathing began to accelerate in Hermione's ear and it made her body prickle with excitement. It took ridiculous effort to keep from spreading flat against the wall as Malfoy infiltrated her savagely. The concoction of the cold in front, and the heat expelling from behind created a comfortable medium. If it weren't for the guilt that continued to overwhelm Hermione, she'd be in the most enjoyable place.

Continuing to pant, Malfoy momentarily paused and softly clasped Hermione's earlobe with his teeth. She let out a suppressed moan and Malfoy joined in as he came. After his hands had gently journeyed down Hermione's waist, he pulled away. It was not even a minute before Hermione had darted to the lift, the raggedly dressed blonde chasing after her. Catching the golden grille just in time, he sneered. "Why are you running, Granger?" His angry stare pierced Hermione.

"I shouldn't be down here, I need to leave."

Malfoy's sneer was pronounced; he nodded severely. "Go on then..." And Hermione was gone. Traipsing through the dancing couples, she sat shakily beside Ron.

"Enjoy dancing with a snake?" spat Ron.

Hermione ignored him, trying to shake off the recent recollections that were flittering through her mind.

Ron's face contorted in disgust, much like Malfoy's often did. "You smell like him."

Hermione turned abruptly. "What?"

"You smell like his sickening cologne." Exhaling shakily, Hermione disposed of the thought that Ron knew more than he should.

Past midnight, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione returned back to The Burrow. The way Ginny and Harry were so fondly conversing with each other was nauseating in Hermione's eyes. All she wanted at this moment was to be alone in the warmth of her own bed, and in her own home. However, at the moment, the dingy mattress on Ginny's floor and a good book would suffice.

Just before ascending upstairs, Ron took Hermione's wrist. "What's going on, Hermione?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're being so strange and difficult." As Hermione struggled to look offended, Ron continued on. "I don't just mean all this business with Malfoy – I mean it's barbaric, it's not like you!" Hermione's stomach churned queasily. "Still," said Ron. "You haven't looked my way lately with a smile, and I'm finding it hard to believe that you're not understanding my attempts to tell you that…" As his voiced trailed off as he shone a delicate pink.

"That...?" asked Hermione with all the fake ignorance she could manage.

"You know," he said in a quiet voice. "Sex."

Hermione took a moment to compose her thoughts, as though this was the first time she'd heard such a thing, but truthfully, she was mulling over which lie to tell. "Ron, I don't want to offend you," said Hermione and she took his hands in hers. "I'm…" The words 'not in love' danced on Hermione's tongue for a moment, and then she realised it wasn't true. Although it was a different love, it was still love. "I'm not ready… Just give me some time," she told him.

Ron eventually nodded understandingly, and kissed Hermione on the forehead. Watching him stalk up the stairs, she couldn't help but shed a few tears. She felt so unbelievably torn, and didn't have a clue how to mend it.

Lying in bed, Hermione stared up at the ceiling of Ginny's bedroom. Mulling over the events of the Ministry Ball was now frequent for Hermione. Often it bought about such remorse that she slept for no more than four hours a night. Other instances it would bring about such a ravenous feeling for Malfoy she couldn't help but feel tempted to return. At this point she felt the damage was done. She didn't have a relationship, nor a future, with Ron. At times she contemplated whether the same experience with Ron would feel as exciting and pleasurable; but she doubted that Ron's skin would feel as silky to touch and his handle as tender.

There seemed no going back now. Ron wasn't the sort to ignore an affair…yet Malfoy was the type to grow bored of such a foolish pursuit like Hermione. It was impossible to choose which way to lean; it almost seemed a never-ending battle.

The next day, at the first chance Hermione found she Apparated to the Malfoy mansion. She stood before the overbearing black gates talking animatedly to herself; she reasoned, and rationalized aloud, and then bore tears and laughter in an absurd manner. As she mused over ridiculous thoughts and notions in her head, Malfoy was in the mansion only yards away.

"Draco," said Narcissa, as she fiddled with a silver hand mirror. "I couldn't help but notice you were very close to that Mudblood the other night. Dancing, if I'm not mistaken."

Before Malfoy could concoct an answer, Lucius had slammed down his Daily Prophet and stood tersely from his bulky armchair. "Is this true, Draco?" His eyes were levelled in a nasty glare that Malfoy was so familiar with; after all, he often provided similar himself.

"It was a show," Malfoy said immediately. "For the Ministry."

Narcissa smiled fondly at her son as he crossed the room leisurely to finger the books on the shelves. "I think that's really quite clever, Draco," she said warmly before she continued to observe herself in her mirror.

Lucius however, dangerously advanced towards Draco. "I don't care if it's clever," sneered Lucius. "And I don't care what the Ministry thinks of our place in society, I don't want you to associate with Mudbloods!" His voice had inclined to a menacing tone. "You're not to associate with such a breed!"

Draco whipped his head around dangerously, however he took a double take as something outside the window had caught his eye. It was a far distance, but it was obvious sight. Trying to perform as genuinely as possible, Malfoy excused himself from the room and began down the stone lined pathway to meet Hermione Granger.

"You have to leave, Granger," yelled Malfoy as he neared the gate. Pulling out his wand he pointed it at the tear-stained brunette standing through the thick iron. Hermione didn't answer but sobbed vaguely. "Why are you here?" shouted Malfoy, as though raising his voice would provoke her to answer.

"I don't want to go back to Ron." Hermione slowly held her hand to mouth, as though she'd just spouted vile blasphemy. Tears filed their way down her cheeks as Malfoy continued to yell.

"That's why you were here in the first place, to get away from that worthless excuse for a pureblood!" Malfoy bared his teeth. "That's pathetic," spat Malfoy. "Get your priorities right, Mudblood." Before Hermione could even sort her priorities in her thoughts, Malfoy continued. "Your priorities are at that shack with Weasley. That's where Mudbloods belong, that's where _you_ belong. Now _leave_! I don't want to see you again." Hermione shook her head softly. It was preposterous that what Malfoy was saying hurt her so much. "Why do you keep coming back?" questioned Malfoy impatiently.

"Because I was scared," she cried. "You were lonely, and I was scared!" Hermione could see that Malfoy understood what she was talking about. His brow had furrowed in concern, and his wand lowered slightly. "It's not so horrible having the company of a Mudblood is it? I didn't dirty you, did I?" Malfoy looked to the ground momentarily. "You needn't say anything," said Hermione softly. "I know you agree."

With vast suspicion, Lucius was watching through the window. "Who is Draco speaking with?" he enquired. "It doesn't look like that Parkinson girl."

Narcissa flared her nostrils. "She was such a lovely girl, I loathe that she's gone."

It seemed that Hermione was making progress until Malfoy raised his wand once more and ordered, "Leave!" Hermione faltered back on her footing. "My father will kill you!"

"Your father wouldn't kill so much as a fly if he doesn't want to go back to Azkaban," hissed Hermione.

It all seemed to happen quite fast. It wasn't even apparent that Lucius was descending from the mansion until he was standing severely behind Malfoy. "_What is this_?" he hissed.

A startled Malfoy turned to face his father. With the entire colour drained from his face he mustered a small voice. "I'll handle this," he told him.

"Handle what?" Lucius turned on Malfoy so he could provide a domineering glare directly into the identical eyes, but even after an officious stare and raised voice, Malfoy didn't obediently answer. Flinging his wand arm harshly, Lucius sent Malfoy flying. He projected so high that he travelled towards the iron gate. Hermione gasped as she envisioned Malfoy connecting harshly with the impenetrable iron but fortunately it seemed that he slipped right past the parallel bars without even a scrape. He hit the ground rather solidly before Hermione could reveal her wand to help.

Lying on his back, Malfoy gaped up at Hermione with tears running from his eyes. He breathed with aching lungs, trying to recapture the breath that escaped as he hit the callous ground. "Leave," he said. Hermione bent down to lay her hands upon him, but he spoke more forceful this time. "GO!"

As Lucius strode through the gate, he shot a hex towards Hermione, luckily just missing her shoulder. Without needing anymore provoking, Hermione stood and turned on the spot. The image that remained in her mind once she'd left was of an innocent boy being crudely abused. Malfoy was mid air once again as Hermione had Apparated. She left with the ringing of Lucius' venomous voice in the air, and it haunted her dreams for nights to come.

Only hours after Malfoy had yielded to his father's maltreatment, he lay in his majestic bed amassed in silken sheets and pulsating with dire pain. His left eye socket throbbed as tears leaked from his ducts, and his right shoulder stung even without the pressure of being lain upon. Too scared to seek his mother for repair, he spent the night in darkness contemplating, still and scarcely breathing.

It wasn't until a month later, after loneliness arose once more and Malfoy began to question his father's ethics again, that he secretly pondered about Hermione. He had spent too much time by himself, prowling through the mansion, often lost in how to entertain himself.

He had sustained mild amusement looking through the photos he'd found in his father's old school trunk. Looking down at a young Severus Snape bought back great memories. It seemed that now with Snape gone, protection for Malfoy had been impeded. Lucius had been able to get away with anything he wanted. He was ignorant to the fact that if he slipped up just once, he'd return to Azkaban for life; but of course, the ministry wouldn't send a man to Azkaban for merely beating his son and wife.

Not even Narcissa was a saviour to Malfoy anymore. Since her return from Azkaban she had become dishevelled and uneasy. She had made an effort to rebuild a new stance in society, whereas her husband didn't want to do anything of the sort, and certainly wouldn't stand for it.

Sometimes to get away from the commotion his parents supplied, Malfoy would journey to Diagon Alley. The stray looks of disgust, however, caused him to return to his mansion not too shortly after departing. Malfoy had arrived at the point where he couldn't bear being alone any longer, and the nagging thought of Hermione Granger caused him to take action.

Extracting a quill he put it to a piece of parchment. He was convinced that sending an owl didn't seem nearly as needy, but in secret he craved for a swift reply.


	8. Once more

_Once more…_

Hermione stared down at a shabby piece of parchment. All it read was two words. There was no doubt where it had come from as it was accompanied by a familiar eagle owl, why it had arrived though, Hermione only had a vague idea. Looking around suspiciously, making sure she was alone, Hermione tapped her wand to the parchment. "_Aparecium_!" New words glowed in dark ink.

_Hog's Head after dark._

It had been over a month since Hermione had last seen Malfoy. She'd come to pretend as though nothing but spite have ever existed between the two of them. Ron was none the wiser and persisted everyday with the notion in mind that one day he and Hermione could celebrate their love… But Hermione was still stuck in the past and reminiscing the feeling of how mischievous she felt with Malfoy inside of her.

Crumpling the parchment hurriedly, Hermione burnt it to ashes with the end of her wand. Without even a glance back at The Burrow, she ran beyond the grassy hill and with an overwhelming feeling of exhilaration, Apparated to Hogsmeade.

Hermione stepped into the familiar musty Hog's Head bar and was greeted with the strong smell of manure and alcohol. It bought back invigorating memories of Dumbledore's Army and the war against Umbridge. Hermione's expression dropped as she noticed the company in the bar were staring at her accusingly. The crowd consisted of a large hooded figure in the corner, and two filthy, unattractive women strewn in dreary dirty clothing who sniggered her way. If she didn't already have prior incentive for being there, she definitely would have left. Luckily Hermione caught the silver eye of a hooded stranger at the bar. Crossing the room past the flickering wall lamps and table candles, Hermione sat beside the stranger. She looked curiously to her side and confirmed with relief that it was Draco Malfoy.

As his black hood faltered, Hermione gasped. She had caught sight of Malfoy's pale face, and below his cheekbone was tinted dull grey and off purple. "What happened – "

"Father."

"You haven't healed since last – "

"He did it again." Malfoy spoke fast and hushed, it seemed it was going to be a rather one-sided conversation until he asked, "Something to drink?"

It seemed awkward to speak to the side of Malfoy's head, especially when she couldn't see a hint of expression beyond his hood. "Oh yes," agreed Hermione. "A Butt –"

"Firewhiskey," Malfoy told the barman. As Hermione fiddled with the small glass before her, she eyed Malfoy apprehensively, nervous as to what was going to happen.

"You're like a drug," Malfoy said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"It was you that came back to me," he told her, as he turned to look into her large eyes. "Now I'm back. I'm begging a Mudblood." He barked an insane laugh. "I never thought I'd see the day." And he downed his Firewhiskey in one.

Hermione teased the surface of the Firewhiskey with her tongue, and then asked. "What do we do now?"

"Where can we go?" he whispered from the corner of his hood.

Hermione pondered for a moment, racking her brain before an ingenious idea came about. With a nervous churning in her stomach and a quiver in her voice she said, "Follow me." And with the barman staring curiously, and the unsightly witches still sniggering, they left the Hog's Head. As they stood beneath the velvet, dimly lit sky, Malfoy looked down to Hermione's offered hand. His finger twitched slightly in automatic reluctance, however he reminded himself that he'd already touched more than her hand and intertwined his fingers in hers.

It was a familiar feeling being at Grimmauld Place. The first object to bring back memories was the ghastly, ghost-like shape that mirrored Dumbledore.

"We did not kill you," said Hermione loud and clear. It seemed that Harry hadn't been here since they'd left the last time. Everything was intact, dusty and dank as ever, and the haunting form of Dumbledore was still there; Hermione was sure that would've been the first thing to be amended if Harry had visited.

"What is this place?" asked Malfoy, as he lowered his hood.

"Grimmauld Place," she told him. "It was Sirius Black's…now it belongs to Harry." At Malfoy's sudden outraged expression, she informed, "He's not here, don't worry."

After Malfoy had lingered looking at the tapestry of the Black family tree, he came to find Hermione in a grimy, dust-ridden bedroom; she was sitting on the end of the bed staring half-heartedly at the far wall. Suddenly a glass vase on the mantel before her burst into shards and scattered the floor. Clutching her chest, Hermione steadied her breathing and yelled, "Why would you do that!"

"Are we going to just sit here and stare?" he asked tartly. "Because I can do that in my own residence."

Hermione bowed her head into her hands and wept silently, however she was interrupted by Malfoy's cruel force. He pushed her hands away from her tear-streaked face and held her chin sternly so she could look him in the eyes. "Don't fuck me around, Granger." His venomous tone caused Hermione to remember everything she had once hated in Draco Malfoy. "Tell me right now if it should all change back; it wouldn't be so difficult to find you repulsive once again." His grip on her chin tightened a little and a tear leaked from the corner of her eye. "I've soiled my family name, and desecrated my body, but I'll do it once more… Just once more, Granger." The grip on Hermione's jaw now loosened; perhaps this was Malfoy's way in offering peace or asking for a favour. Whatever it was, it was relaxing. As he moved his hand to cradle Hermione's soft cheek, she pushed delicately towards his touch, and alluringly brushed his palm with her lips.

Standing tall, Hermione buried her hands in Malfoy's hair, pulling him closer as she kissed him impatiently. 'Once more,' she echoed in her head. She pushed him onto the filthy bed and straddled aggressively. 'The quicker, the better,' she convinced herself. But Malfoy was thinking differently. He took lead, pushing Hermione onto her back and viciously stripped her naked, examining her body as he had done previously.

"Heal me," he told her as he placed her wand in her hand.

Hermione felt a little taken aback. "Heal – your cheek?" Malfoy nodded. Apprehensively, Hermione connected her wand with his discoloured skin, she was grateful however, when the skin tastefully repatched itself and glowed bright and healthy.

Truthfully, Hermione half expected Malfoy to continue ravaging her savagely, but he touched her tenderly and she became trapped in the motions. She applied the same touch in return, beginning with his scarred tattoo, and ending with the fair hairs on his navel. Malfoy surrendered to an amazing experience; something so soft and genuine that he'd never encountered with anyone else. With Pansy it was always rough, malicious and often forced. In comparison this was ecstasy, even the envisions of the word 'Mudblood' across his mind couldn't spoil the feeling. 'This is the last time,' he told himself.

If Hermione didn't have to worry about Ron or the consequences any longer, then she would have been in pure heaven. Malfoy was so sensitive, so uncharacteristic. He began thrusting in successions, fast, faster and then slow. And then it hit Hermione densely as Malfoy stared deep into her immense brown eyes. She pulled from his grip, slightly overwhelmed, and sat upon his pelvis. "Why did you do that?" Malfoy looked enquiringly. "You know perfectly well," she told him. Yet he continued to be ignorant. "You used Legilimency on me."

Malfoy smirked maliciously and pulled Hermione down so their chests collided. He was searching her for emotion, needs and feelings, and it worked unbelievably well. Whilst he explored deep into her eyes, every motion, movement and gesture they created together resulted in the most lavish sensation. So deep, Malfoy delved until he couldn't anymore. He explored and stayed there, still staring into Hermione's eyes. He was giving her everything she wanted, and he loved it. He loved being in control.

It felt like hours had drifted past. With Hermione comfortably lain on Malfoy's pale chest, she fiddled with his wrist, teasing the raised scar. It fascinated her so much as it was something she'd never find on Ron. With the thought of Ron dancing through her mind, Hermione's skin tingled and she exhaled heavily. She pulled away from Malfoy, but he caught hold of her arm tersely.

Hermione turned her head strictly. "That was the last time," she reminded him. Her eyes were so wide; Malfoy didn't have to use Legilimency to realise that she looked frightened, her voice suggested otherwise, but she looked thoroughly afraid. Although he knew perfectly well that it was Ron that was causing Hermione to doubt her position, he still needed verification…but being the person he was, with such pride, he couldn't let the question roll from his tongue.

He watched Hermione dress, admiring the naked beauty for the last time. When done she stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the brooding blonde. As she was about to speak, he ruffled through his robes finally pulling out a crinkled, yellow-tinged small piece of paper. "Give this to Potter," he said.

Hermione turned the aged paper over and found it to be a very vintage photograph. A younger Lily Potter smiled up at Hermione and then looked admiringly to the youthful Severus Snape beside her. It was obvious that it was Harry's mother as they shared the same beautiful, piercing green eyes. "Where did you get this?"

"Father's old school trunk." Tying his robe, Malfoy stood before Hermione and looked down at her as genuinely as he could manage. She needed to know it wasn't a trick, nor a pointless gesture, it meant something, and Harry needed to know that. Harry needed to know that it was a peace offering. After all these years of turmoil and rivalry he hoped a photograph could mend that – and Malfoy knew that it would, because he knew how much the woman in the photo meant to Harry.

Looking up at Malfoy, tall, handsome and proud, Hermione reminisced for a moment. She recollected the Malfoy mansion, the Ministry Ball…the first time she laid her lips to his and the abuse that followed. And then she recalled the sensation the first time Malfoy explored inside of her, and she told herself, 'Enough… That's enough.'

Laying her hands gently on his cheekbones, she pulled Malfoy towards her, inching on the tips of her toes, and kissed him one last time. Pulling away, she didn't say a word, as she couldn't find anything appropriate, yet eloquent enough for this situation. She went to leave in silence until Malfoy spoke. "Don't come back, Granger," he told her.

Turning around Hermione smirked and mimicked gently, "Don't come back, Malfoy…"

Watching the brunette exit into the shadows, Malfoy smiled to himself. Such a feat he had just conquered. If someone had told him a year ago he would have the opportunity to sexually explore Hermione Granger, he would have cursed them dead there and then. This was evolution for the incompatible. A Pureblood, and a Mudblood had been enforced and it was just by luck, or perhaps fate. If everything hadn't unfolded the way it did then neither would be able to reminisce the touch of each other's lips, or recollect the warmth from their intermingled bodies… And in the eyes of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, that would've been a shame…

**The End...**

**Thanks for reading/reviewing. **


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